


Traces of Something

by timetogoslumming



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 19:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11020455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetogoslumming/pseuds/timetogoslumming
Summary: The lines started appearing when Race was seventeen. One moment in class, he was working through a few physics problems, completely focused, and the next, he was staring at the black line on his arm. It was thin and scratchy like a ballpoint pen, and didn’t seem to follow any discernable pattern. Race watched in shock at the line continued slowly across the top of his forearm before coming to a close back at the start. He stared at the shape, trying to find any meaning in it, before realizing that it looked a little bit like a dog. After uncapping his pen, Race drew a quick face on what may or may not have been a dog, along with a bone.





	Traces of Something

The lines started appearing when Race was seventeen. One moment in class, he was working through a few physics problems, completely focused, and the next, he was staring at the black line on his arm. It was thin and scratchy like a ballpoint pen, and didn’t seem to follow any discernable pattern. Race watched in shock at the line continued slowly across the top of his forearm before coming to a close back at the start. He stared at the shape, trying to find any meaning in it, before realizing that it looked a little bit like a dog. After uncapping his pen, Race drew a quick face on what may or may not have been a dog, along with a bone.

“Antonio?” someone was calling, although Race didn’t notice. “Antonio? Race!”

“Huh?” he asked, looking up at the teacher at the front of the room.

His teacher pointed at the complex equation on the board. “Do you have an answer for us?”

“Uh…” Race stared down at the half-finished problem on his paper. “Not yet. But I’m working on it, Ms. Smits.”

“Mhm,” Ms. Smits said. “ _ Try _ to pay attention, Antonio. Jackson, do you have an answer?”

Race drifted back away from the class in his mind, still lost in staring at his arm. No more marks had appeared, but the shape didn’t fade. 

He barely paid attention for the rest of the class, when they were finally released for lunch. Race just wanted to get to his friends to show them his arm. He was the only person in their friend group in advanced physics- most of the others had English during that time. 

The bell finally rang and Race was up in a flash, shouldering his backpack as he shoved past the rest of the class on the way out the door. The elevator dinged on his way down the hall and Race stopped, waiting for Crutchie, who rolled out in his wheelchair as soon as the doors opened. “Hey, what’s up?” Crutchie said.

“I’ll tell you when we get to lunch.” They made their way through the crowds to the cafeteria, where Jack, Davey, and Specs were already taking their seats. 

Davey handed Jack a sandwich, and Race spotted a glimpse of the painting on his hand, which matched the one on Jack’s hand perfectly. Jack had started painting on his hand as soon as Davey’s homework assignment showed up on his arm one day. He wanted to impress his soulmate. Of course, Davey instantly figured out who his soulmate was, since Jack’s paintings were hung all over school. They hadn’t even known that the other person existed before that, and now they were absolutely inseparable. 

“What did you want to tell us?” Crutchie asked after they all had food.

Without a word, Race put his arm dramatically on the table. Everyone stared for a moment. “What the fuck is that?” Jack finally asked.

“I thought it looked kind of like a dog,” Race replied. “Point is, I didn’t draw it. Except the face.”

“Your soulmate?” David asked excitedly. They had been waiting for Race to find his soulmate. He and Crutchie were the only ones left. Specs, for instance, was always constantly covered in notes from his soulmate, Romeo, who lived two states away. 

“Guess so,” Race said. 

“Your soulmate can’t draw,” Jack commented with his mouth full of food.

Crutchie, Race noticed, had gone quiet. His soulmate rarely wrote on himself. When he did, it was all in Korean. They had all been incredibly lucky, finding people relatively nearby, who at least spoke English. Not everyone had such good fortune.

 

Spot had started seeing his soulmate’s writing when he was fifteen. He looked at the palm of his hand one day, where a list of Spanish verb conjugations were hastily scribbled. “Cheater”, Spot wrote back, but no one ever responded. Soulmates generally didn’t start seeing each other's writings at the same time. He figured that his soulmate just hadn’t gotten there just yet. But still, knowing that his soulmate was out there, cheating on Spanish tests, writing numbers to Chinese restaurants, and every now and then, working out math problems on his arm was comforting. Every time another bit of writing showed up, Spot felt like he knew his soulmate a little bit better, whoever they were. 

He was in history class one day, absently drawing on his arm, when the face showed up. A goofy smiley face, making the abstract shape on his arm turn into a dog. Spot almost fell out of his chair. He raised his pen to write something, but the words wouldn’t come. He had been waiting for this for so long that now that the moment had arrived, Spot had gone tongue-tied. Or, pen-tied.  

After school, Spot tracked down his friends, Albert and JoJo. “Look!” he said, showing them his arm. 

“It’s an ugly dog,” Albert said, eyebrows raised. 

“No,” Spot replied. “The face. I didn’t draw the face.” 

“Your soulmate can finally see it?” JoJo asked. “So what are you going to do?”

“Have you written back?” Albert added.

Spot shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Ask them to meet up!” Albert suggested.

“They might not even be nearby,” JoJo pointed out. “For all he knows, his soulmate could be in Nebraska or something.”

Spot went home that night and kept meaning to write back, but the words just wouldn’t come. Finally, he settled for drawing a tic tac toe board on his leg, putting an X in the middle spot. 

Five minutes later, an blue O filled itself in and Spot grinned, uncapping his pen and adding another X. They played seven games, with Spot losing five. Finally, as he yawned, a note appeared on his hand. “Wash this off. I have a job interview tomorrow. You suck at tic tac toe.” 

 

Race grinned at his hand, watching as half of the ink on his body slowly disappeared as whoever was on the other end washed it off. He went to the bathroom and followed suit, scrubbing at the stubborn ink on his skin. Most people understood soulmate writing- after all, everyone got it at some point, but Race had an interview at a movie theater the next day, and he didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot. 

When his alarm went off in the morning, there was a note written on Race’s upper thigh, where it could easily be covered. “Good luck today.” 

The interview was typical, filled with “what are your greatest strengths” and “tell me about a time you failed” and “why do you want to work here” questions, which Race bullshitted as much as he could. A deep understanding of physics, especially for his age, and gambling. Two English classes and a history exam. Money to make up what he lost playing cards and to buy gas with. For all the interviewer knew, Race had always dreamed of serving popcorn to preteens going to see the newest Dystopian romance.

At the end, though, he got a handshake and a smile. By the time he got home, there was a voicemail offering him a part time minimum wage job, complete with maroon polo shirt and non-slip shoes. 

Race told his dad the news on the way to his room, where he dug through his closet for a washable marker. There was an underused art set that he had gotten for his birthday one year. He could only remember using it once. After selecting a blue marker, Race carefully drew out a hangman board with ten blanks underneath. _  _ _ _  _ _ _  _ _ _! Nothing happened for a solid ten minutes until the faintest scratchings of a letter showed up, completely illegible. There was a pause before random scribbling appeared on the back of his hand, along with a note. “My pen was dying.” The letter A materialized under the hangman board and Race drew a circle for the hangman’s head. 

Their game continued for a while until most of the letters were filled in. The person on the other end filled in the rest. “You got the job?”

 

Later that night, Davey and Jack watched over Race’s shoulder as another abstract shape slowly materialized on his forearm, dipping in and out seemingly at random. “God, this person really has no respect for your skin,” Jack commented.

“What are you going to do?” Davey asked. 

Race shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t even know his name.”

“He’s a guy?” Jack asked.

“His handwriting looks like a guy’s.”

Davey shook his head. “That doesn’t mean anything. Just ask them their name!”

“No way,” Race said. “I’m not asking till he does.” He studied his arm. “Huh. It looks kind of like a dolphin.”

Jack grabbed Race’s arm and stared at it for a minute. “It looks nothing like a dolphin.”

 

Unbeknownst to them, three blocks away, a boy laid on his bed, listening to music and absent-mindedly doodling on his arm. 

 

The week passed uneventfully. Race continued to write to his soulmate, with hangman games becoming their conversation form of choice. He started work, which was mostly boring, but the concept of money coming in regularly was a nice thought. And Jack worked at the theater, too, which certainly helped pass the time. 

One Thursday after finishing his training, Race was manning the concessions counter alone during a lull. A group of guys about his age came into the theater, joking loudly with each other. “Spot!” one of them barked. “Play me in air hockey!”

The shortest one shrugged. “Let’s make it interesting.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Spot looked around the theater for ideas. “Loser buys popcorn,” he concluded. They shook on it and the taller boy fished out two quarters for the game. Race didn’t even realize that he was openly staring at the game until the shorter guy looked up and they made eye contact. Race looked away sharply and busied himself with wiping down the counter. 

After a brief but furious game of air hockey, the third boy, who was serving as referee, declared the short boy the loser. He grumbled and stalked over to the concession counter, where Race was waiting. “Large popcorn,” he said. 

“Butter?” Race asked.

“Is butter extra?” The guy had a heavy New York accent. 

“No.”

“Then yes.” 

Race started pumping butter onto the bucket of popcorn when something on the boy’s arm distracted him. There, on his forearm, was an abstract shape, drawn in ballpoint pen, which perfectly matched the one on Race’s arm, which was covered by his long-sleeved uniform. He stared openly, not even realizing that the popcorn was now drenched. “That’s good,” the boy said, jerking Race out of his reverie. 

“Oh. Yeah,” he said absently. “Here you go.”

“How much do I owe you?” the short guy asked, holding his wallet open, where Race could see a wad of crumpled one dollar bills poking out. 

“Uh… don’t worry about it. I put too much butter on. It’s on the house.” He allowed himself to look at the boy while he was putting his wallet away. He was short, probably not more than five foot four or so, with dark hair and tanned skin, but a large smattering of freckles still peeked through. His face seemed to be set into a permanent grimace, but it somehow seemed confident. 

“Thanks,” the guy said. “If my friends ask, I paid.”

“You got it,” Race replied. “Enjoy the movie.”

“You, too- I mean…”

 

Spot took his popcorn and went back to the guys, where they were waiting to go into the theater. The boy at the counter- Antonio, according to his name tag- had been cute. Sort of dangerously cute. And it seemed like he was either incurably awkward or into Spot. 

Dating was tricky with the soulmate system. A lot of people didn’t even bother trying to date before finding their soulmate. If things worked out, someone was bound to get heartbroken. Either someone in the relationship would find their soulmate and leave, or their soulmate would be out there somewhere, miserable and alone. 

They took their seats and JoJo grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Damn, Spot,” he said, shoving the popcorn into his mouth. “Got enough butter?”

 

Race watched until the guys were inside their theater before half-running to the box office. He knocked sharply on the door until Jack poked his head out. “Take a break,” Race said  urgently. “We need to talk.”

Jack made sure that the other guy in the box office was okay on his own and followed Race back to the concessions counter. “What’s up?”

“I just saw my soulmate,” Race said, eyes wide.

“What?” Jack yelped. “Who?”

“One of those guys that was just in here.”

“Which one?” Jack asked warily.

“The short one.”

Jack nodded slowly, a smirk spreading across his face. “And? What did you say?”

Race shrugged. “Nothing, really. I gave him a free popcorn because I got distracted and fucked his up.”

“You’re sure it was the short one?” Jack asked. “Little guy? Danny DeVito?” Race nodded. “You’re in luck. I know him.”

Race grabbed Jack’s arm. “You  _ what _ ?” 

Jack grinned. “We were in the same foster home for a while. Not long, only like a month. His name’s Spot. Actually, I think that’s a nickname. I don’t actually know what his real name is.”

“ _ When _ ?”

“I think in middle school?” Jack replied uncertainly. “We haven’t talked since then until today, which was still pretty quick. So, does  _ he _ know-”

“No,” Race replied. “I only figured it out because he’s wearing a tank top and I could see those doodles he does.”

“You need to go tell him!” 

Race shook his head. “Just because you and Davey worked out immediately doesn’t mean everyone does!” 

“You’re like, the least shy person I know,” Jack said. “Why is this any different?”

Race stared at Jack in utter disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? This isn’t like asking the waitress to bring me a new fork or saying hi to some old lady at the laundromat, Jack. This is my  _ soulmate _ .”

 

Race went home that night and went straight to his computer, where he typed the name “Spot” into Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Google, and even LinkedIn. Nothing relevant came up. He texted Jack for a last name, but Jack couldn’t remember. “Maybe something with a K?” he said. “Just write to him!”

Race picked up a marker and tapped it, cap still on, against his arm for a while while he thought. Finally, slowly, he wrote out a note on his arm. “Enjoy the movie?” he wrote, hand shaking. “How was the popcorn?”

It took a long time before a message showed up. Race had almost given up home, and was getting ready to text Jack that he had scared Spot off, when a single word appeared on his hand. “Antonio?”

Race’s face split into a grin and he felt his heart leap up into his throat. Finally, he wrote ten digits out under his name. His phone vibrated within thirty seconds. “This is Antonio, right?” the text said.

“Just call me Race. Spot?”

“You know my name?”

“Jack Kelly is my best friend.”

A few minutes passed while Race waited for another text. Finally, Spot responded with an address. “I’m guessing you live in the city,” he said. “Can you meet me? Now?” Race took a closer look at the address and realized that it was a diner two blocks away. He had walked past it a million times without going in. 

“I’ll be right there.”

Spot was already there when Race arrived, drinking a cup of black coffee. He looked up when the door opened, and he and Race locked eyes. It was like time slowed down. Nothing else existed in that moment except the two of them- not the waitress, or the taxi honking its horn outside, or the fry cook yelling orders across the counter. 

Race dragged his feet, which each felt like they suddenly weighed about forty pounds, across the floor and took a seat across from Spot. “So, uh…” he started awkwardly. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Spot said with a smirk. “You got here fast.”

“I live nearby.”

“So do I.” They sat in total silence until a waitress came and asked for Race’s drink order. 

“A Coke,” he said, dazed. 

Spot watched as she left to get Race’s drink. “You’re not messing with me, are you?” he asked, eyes focused on the waitress’ back. “I mean, you’re actually him, right?”

Race pulled up the sleeve of his jacket, where their notes were still visible, as well as the random shapes that Spot was always drawing. “Does this look fake to you?” He pointed to the doodle. “What is this? You’re always drawing stuff like this.”

Spot finally looked back to Race, as the waitress came back with a Coke. “Are you boys ready to order?” she asked.

“Uh…” Race started.

Spot shook his head. “Not quite.” He waited until she was out of earshot before holding his own arm out. He suddenly looked self-conscious. “It’s just something I do when I’m thinking,” he said. “I trace my freckles.”

Race looked down and sure enough, what he thought were random lines were actually connecting the freckles on his arm. “That’s really…” he started. Spot looked at him expectantly. “Cute,” Race finally finished. 

Spot bit his lip and took a sip of his coffee. “Tell me something about yourself,” he said. “Something I don’t already know.”

“Well, what do you already know?”

Spot counted off on his fingers. “I know you like games like tic tac toe and hangman. I know you’re really good at math. I know you like Chinese food. I know you write to-do lists on your wrist. I know you cheat on your Spanish tests- by the way, I’m actually good at Spanish, so if you ever need help with that…”

“How do you know all that?” Race asked. He had no idea that he was such an open book.

“You write on yourself  _ a lot _ . And because I’ve been able to see it for two years now.”

Race almost choked on his soda. “ _ What _ ? How?”

Spot shrugged. “You know it doesn’t always happen at the same time. I was just hoping you weren’t just ignoring me. Now stop avoiding the question. Tell me something.”

“Well…” Race tried to think of something. What do you tell your soulmate the first time you officially meet? “I’m allergic to bananas.”

“Bananas?”

“Yeah. I break out in hives.”

“That’s hot.”

“Shut up.” They grinned at each other across the table, already feeling the awkwardness beginning to subside. “It’s your turn. Tell me something.”

Spot thought for a moment. “You make really shitty popcorn,” he said.

“It was my first day on my own after training. Try again.”

“Okay, fine. I’ve seen you around before,” he said.

“When?” Race asked. 

“I told you,” Spot continued. “I live nearby. I didn’t really put it together until I just saw you but yeah.” He gestured to the menu. “Want to order something? Split some banana pancakes?”

“Oh yeah,” Race said. “And then you can take me back to your place to pump me full of Benadryl and ointment.” 

“My kind of date.”

The waitress came by then. Spot ordered a large serving of eggs and some toast, and Race got a stack of bacon and a (non-banana) pancake. “Are you kind of freaking out?” Race asked finally. “I’m freaking out right now.”

“Why would I freak out?” Spot asked in his thick accent. “This is a normal day. Nothing special has happened today.” He took a long drink of coffee. “I’ve been losing my mind all week.”

Their waitress brought out their food soon. “Want any of my bacon?” Race asked.

Spot waved a hand. “I’m a vegetarian,” he responded.

Race eyed Spot’s arms, clearly on display because of his tank top. “Aren’t you a little… jacked to be a vegetarian?”

Spot rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Protein doesn’t only come from bacon, Antonio.”

“What’s your name?”

“Spot?” he said, staring pointedly at Race.

“No, your real name.”

“Oh. Sean. Sean Conlon.”

“Antonio Higgins. Nice to meet you.” Race held out a hand, which Spot shook from across the table. 

They stayed there talking for what thirty minutes, but Spot happened to see the time on his phone, showing that they had been sitting there for almost three hours. “We should probably go,” he said reluctantly. The waitress had brought their check long ago, and they both reached for it. “I got it,” Spot said. “You bought my shitty popcorn.” He counted out a stack of crumpled one dollar bills. 

“Are you a stripper or something?” Race asked.

“Yeah,” Spot replied seriously. Race blanched. “I’m a waiter. Relax.”

They slowly walked out of the diner, standing awkwardly in the doorway. Neither of them wanted to be the first one to walk away. “Want to take a lap around the block?” Race asked.

“Yeah,” Spot said in relief. They started walking. It had gotten late so not many people were out anymore. As they reached the corner, Spot glanced over at Race. “You’re tall,” he commented.

“You’re short,” Race countered. They turned the corner and their hands bumped together by accident. “So…” Race started. “Are we going to address the whole soulmates thing at any point?”

Spot sighed. “I’m gay, Race. I don’t know if you are. And I’ve been watching everything you write for two years. I don’t know if you even like guys, but… I’m in if you are.”

Their hands brushed together again, and Race closed the gap by weaving his fingers into Spot’s as they walked. “I’m pansexual,” he said. “And I’m in.” There was something like an electric current running between their hands. Race didn’t know if it had anything to do with the whole soulmate thing or if it was just the natural chemistry that they seemed to have. 

Spot squeezed his hand and they kept walking. Finally, Race stopped at the stairs of his building. “This is where I live,” he said. 

“Wow,” Spot responded. “I’m three blocks over.”

“That’s convenient,” Race replied with a crooked grin. 

Neither of them wanted to say goodbye, and they stood quietly at the bottom of the steps. Finally, Spot tugged on Race’s hand. “Just fucking kiss me already.” He pulled Race in close, and Race tilted his head down, until their lips met and the world exploded.

**Author's Note:**

> i decided that i'm going to do a few of these with other pairings that are hinted at so look forward to that?


End file.
